


Da Smutty Addendum

by Badam_Luumsss



Series: Through the Looking-Glass (And What Harry Found There) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Harry Potter, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time Bottoming, Gay Sex, M/M, Male Slash, Slash, Smut, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badam_Luumsss/pseuds/Badam_Luumsss
Summary: After a tough day at work that stirs hard things inside Harry, Draco is here to distract him and forget how anxious he gets when Harry's late from work...Part 2 of a series called "Through the Looking-Glass (And What Harry Found There)".
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Through the Looking-Glass (And What Harry Found There) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754506
Comments: 2
Kudos: 101





	Da Smutty Addendum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissJ609](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJ609/gifts).



> This is part of a series called "Through the Looking-Glass (And What Harry Found There)" it's basically a smutty follow-up of the story where Draco is here when Harry needs him after a tough day of Auroring.
> 
> The idea is from MissJ609 who said it would be nice to know how Harry's first time bottoming would go so, here it is and it is dedicated to this great person who brightened my day on several occasions :) Hope you'll like it!

In the few months that follow, Draco has learned that dating Harry Potter comes with long waiting hours, cancelled dates and a sometimes sombre Harry slouched with the weight of the day. But he doesn’t care about it. It feels so right he feels it in his very bones. And it turns into mind-blowing apology-sex (finally a type of apology Harry excels in) later so it’s worth it.

Still, the worry is probably the worst part. After a few stood-ups that ended up in St Mungo’s waiting for a frazzled Healer to show up and say the words that would allow him to breathe properly again, Draco’s insides are now gripped in ice-cold coils when Harry is late or when an unexpected owl gets in.

It did have the surprising effect of getting him on Ron and Hermione’s good side though. Draco supposes waiting in despair for a loved one constitutes a quality bonding experience. So with Harry’s undisputed proclivity for trouble and his general disregard for his well-being —really, with such a lack of self-preservation, it’s no wonder he was finally sorted in Gryffindor!— it was bound to happen eventually.

On a warm Tuesday night, he’s on Harry’s couch at Grimmauld and tries not to bite his nails down to the quick. It’s not a resounding success, to be honest.

He re-reads the same line of his transfiguration book probably for the twentieth time, desperately pushing pictures of Harry lying in a ditch somewhere at the back of his mind. When the fire roars green, he cannot help a sigh of relief.

But when he sees Harry’s face he instantly knows this one was bad. Not bone-crushing, flesh-wounding bad. The other kind. The one that make him wake-up screaming when it adds to the long collection of the best hits of the War.

He’s covered in blood —again— and Draco doubts he’ll ever get used to it. It must have showed on his face because Harry waves a hand tiredly and says with a hollow voice:

“It’s not mine”

Draco nods and feels silly at the wave of relief that crashes over him. He doesn’t get up from the couch, not trusting his legs at the moment.

In two steps, Harry’s on him and his eyes are blazing with this peculiar intensity he gets sometimes. A feral need to reassess his rights on the world of the living, to grab, touch, feel and loose himself in it.

He falls on his knees between Draco’s parted legs and kisses him hard and messy. The fire catches in Draco who channels all the fear of those dreadful nights he spends waiting into it. The result is as violent and hungry as Fiendfyre.

“Draco…” Harry says eventually when they’re both mirrored panting messes.

“I’m here… Harry, it’s over, you’re home, it’s going to be all right” murmurs the pale-blond.

“Fuck, I need you so much…” his tone is manic and he’s shaking.

He cups Draco’s nape and tugs gently, leading him to kneel on the rug over him. Harry lays back on it and gets rid of his clothes with a silent wandless spell. As always, desire flares inside Draco at the display of raw power. It gets overwhelming when he sets his hungry grey eyes on the strong body offered to him. The fireplace is casting dancing lights on Harry, highlighting the bronze and defining the muscles with neat shadows pooling in the hollows. He’s bruised and the scars shine silver gold everywhere but he’s never been more beautiful with that frantic need burning in the bright viridian orbs.

The lump in his throat grows bigger. Draco lays his body on Harry’s and kisses him again, he tries to go slower, to soothe the dark-haired man but Harry’s having none of it; raiding his mouth, his hands brutalising the fabric of his shirt and pressing his body against him like a wild animal.

Draco relents, giving in to the desperate rhythm Harry sets. A few minutes later, they’re both naked, their bodies glistening with sweat and rutting against each other madly, emitting low primal sounds that aren’t even close to being human.

“Draco, I need you, I need you now…” says Harry in that same frantic, urgent tone, pressing his hips against Draco and tilting his head back.

“You mean…?”

“Yes” he hisses.

“I’m not sure it’s- ”

“Please, please Draco, I need you… I want you to fuck me until I don’t remember how to breathe” Harry cuts him off pressingly.

Heat coils around his spine and pools in his loins at the words.

Once again, Draco caves in and pushes gentle fingers inside Harry who wants more, so much more. He wants to feel the burn, he wants to be taken apart and Draco knows how it feels. He’s been there not so long ago.

The months after the War were hectic. When Harry gave him his life back at the trials, he ran away from his mother’s emptiness, from his father’s toxicity, from the dark memories now embedded in the stones that had cradled his childhood and above all, from the all-consuming guilt choking him. He hid in Muggle London, free for the first time of his life to be anyone he wanted to be. He replaced his poisonous education with what he saw with his own eyes. There, he also lost himself in dim lighting; in loud music he didn’t understand but made him feel more alive than he had ever been; in cheap alcohol that didn’t smoke or fizzed or tickled; against the press of warm bodies who couldn't get enough of his pale flesh. He welcomed the burn then; looked for it, longed for it. He just wanted to feel, just feel and stop thinking. Stop thinking about the damage he had done and the feelings welling up inside him for the one person he could never have.

Draco remembers; he does know how it feels. So he gives Harry what he craves for. He’s still too gentle and too slow for Harry’s taste but it will have to do.

When he pushes inside him, Harry bites his lower lip but smiles, his forehead is creased with the mixture of pain and pleasure. His breath is short and shallow, the muscles of his abdomen taut. He arches against Draco, opening his legs wider still.

“Don’t stop… Fuck d-don’t stop” he chokes out.

Draco’s hips start pumping in and out slowly, a storm of sensations raking his whole body. He loses himself in the tight channel welcoming him in a searing embrace at each thrust.

“Harder” pants Harry, his nails digging into the muscles of his arse, and Draco’s thrusts pick up the pace, making filthy smacking sounds.

Suddenly, Harry pushes him away and scrambles on his front on the rug, urging Draco to fuck him in earnest. The pale blond is reluctant at first but the noises Harry makes drive him slowly mad and soon, he’s pounding into him relentlessly. Draco’s walking on the thinnest edge and his whole body is tensed in the effort of not letting go. He tries to angle his hips to hit the spot that’ll make Harry unravel completely and finds it at the second attempt. Two thrusts, three, four and he’s coming explosively with a raw, shouted “Fuck!”. His inner muscles constrict around Draco almost painfully and he finally lets go, emptying himself into the quivering ring of muscles, sobbing with the strength of his release.

He slips out and collapses besides Harry, his muscles shaking from exhaustion. The darker-skinned wizard stretches and curls around him like a sated and lazy panther. When the thumbing in his temples subsides, Draco wraps his arms against the hot, sticky body, slipping his leg between Harry’s and smearing the mixture of sweat and semen even further but Harry looks totally indifferent at the discomfort.

“th’t was ‘mazing” he mumbles, his hot breath brushing against Draco’s skin.

“I love you” murmurs Draco in his hair.

Harry smiles peacefully and closes his eyes, the wrinkles on his forehead finally gone.


End file.
